Waaagh!
by jarec
Summary: An Orc leads his tibe on an epic quest for honor glory and new people to stomp
1. Chapter 1

IT was dawn in the World's Edge Mountains, and Thokk, of the Evil Skarz orc tribe was beginning his day. His goblin slave Runt had very timidly awoken him, lightly shaking the pile of reeking hides Thokk slept on. Runt had soon been rewarded with the first beating of the day. A light one, for Thokk was in a good mood today. And why shouldn't he be? Today he challenged Old Scar for the position of Boss. Thokk was sure he'd win; he was younger, stronger, and smarter. Also, Old Scar had lost an eye and three fingers on his left hand in the last battle with the Ogres.

Thokk thought about this as he ate his breakfast (one of the squigs Runt had scavenged from the Drops, and some fungus wine). When he was Boss, they'd take the fight to the Ogres, and stop their raids once and for all. "Nowhun c'n git away wif treatin' Orcses like dat, leas' of all dem fat gitz" Thokk grumbled to himself "Ol' Scar'z fergot wat Da Odds want fum us ". He nodded to himself, secure in the knowledge that Gork and Mork (the 'Odds' as he called them) were firmly on his side. After all, they loved brave and thoughtless warriors. Old Scars talk of strategy and plans was anathema to them, and smelled of human-thinking.

Before he set out he made sure to take his weapons. A talisman the tribes shaman had secretly given him, his horned helmet, plus an axe looted from the High Elves. It was light as a feather, sharp as could be, and could chop through just about anything. Thokk had named it Rippa, because of the wy it ripped through enemies. Much better than its Elf name, "Shining Hope".

Honestly, only Elves…

Filled with a sense of imminent importance, Thokk strode out of the hut into the cold air. The atmosphere was filled with the sounds and smells of an Orc settement. The clang of a forge, the clashing of weapons, the grunting and farting of the boars, the squealing of goblins, and the rough brutal voices of the orcs themselves. The smell would have been unbearable to a human, but the orcs didn't even notice it. After all, it was THEIR smell; a mixture of stale sweat, dried (and fresh) blood, droppings and badly cured hides.

He marched boldly up to the Boss Tent, notable in that it was the biggest one around and that it was made of the skins of fallen enemies, and thepoles were made of bone. Humans, Ogres, Orcs, Elves, Dwarfs, even Skaven and mutants had made contributions. Thokk was filled with pride and wonder at his peoples might. He couldn't wait until it was all his.

"SCAR!" He bellowed. This wasn't really necessary (there was nothing wrong with the old gits hearing) but it was part of his challenge to show who yelled loudest "SCAR!"

"WHUT!" came the reply from inside. Old Scar was loud but not quite loud enough. Thokk grinned, the first round was almost his

"GIT YERSELF OUT HERE! NOW!" Thokk roared, his green face turning reddish-black with the effort. "I'ZE HERE T'CHALENGE YOU!"

The old Orc stomped outside, carrying his magical club, the Hitty Stik. His green frame bulged with muscles and was covered with scars and tattoos. Scar was a feral orc, from one of the primitive tribes far to the south. He had joined their tribe and begun using metal weapons, but had kept his magic tattoos. Orcs of the Evil Skarz had taken to getting tattooed to look like da Boss, but Thokk felt that it wasn't "civ'lized" and a further sign of how Scar was ruining the tribe.

"Yeh? So, you gonna to more'n jus' talk, ya pansy git? Les' party" Scar growled and charged forward, the Hitty Stik raised. The club was enchanted to be nearly unbreakable and to hit really really REALLY hard. Thokk knew he'd have to be careful.

He dodge left, letting the blow pass him by, at the same time aiming a bllow from Rippa at Scar's midriff. The blow should have chopped the Orc Boss in two, but instead was deflected by the magic of the tattoos, just enough to turn a killing blow into a deep cut. The Boss was now bleeding profusely from the wound. In a human this would have made Thokk's eventual victory all but certain, as blood loss made the foe progressively weaker. Scar was an Orc however, and so much tougher than any weedy human. The wound would slow him a little, but not much. Not enough.

The Hitty Stik was legendary among Orcs. Whoever had it was basically invincible in single combat; the only way to take the Bosshood (and the item itself) was through low cunning or treachery. Normally, Thokk would have approved of either choice, but not here. He wanted to stomp the Feral Orcs face, and let the entire tribe know just who the biggest baddest orc of them all was.

That was proving harder than he'd thought, though. A blow from the Hitty Stikk made it through Thokk's defenses and crashed down on his metal helmet. The helm took the blow, but shattered. _Well_ Thokk thought _ betta me 'at dan me 'ed_

Thokk managed to ignore the pain just long enough to land the final blow. An underhand swing that landed squarely between Old Scar's massive legs. The talisman around his neck glowed, and the glow spread to Rippa, allowing the axe to ignore the magic of the tattoos. The Boss Orc let out the highest, loudest scream Thokk had ever heard. _If I'da knowed he could scream like dat, I wouda givven 'im anudda chance as Boss _he thought. Blood exploded from the wound, gallons of black liquid staining the ground. Within seconds it was all over. Thokk was now the Boss of the Evil Skarz.

_Dis is GREAT! But… now waddooo I do?_

End Chapter 1

Chapter 2 will only come if I see reviews.


	2. Chapter 2

So now Thokk was da Boss. And he had no idea what to do next.

He covered this up by making a lot of small changes, to buy time for Da Ods to send him an idea. First, he ordered Da Boyz to remove their tatoos.

"It ain't proppa fer civeelized Orcses ta have dem stoopid pitchers on dem. Dats wot da feral boyz does, an' dey's savijez. So take 'em off" Thokk had said in his first speech.

"But" said one orc, Garfan Blacktooth by name "how iz we suppozed to do dat?"

"I dunno" Thokk answered "but do it"

The air now was filled with Orcish screams of pain as they tried to invent tattoo removal through the venerated Orc method of trial-and-painfulerror. Some tried to burn off the tattoos. This experiment killed seven Orcs before anyone remembered that Orcs were flammable. Others tried to get cave squiggs to chew off the marks. This only claimed two lives before everyone saw how stupid it was. Finally, most settled on either cutting away the marked parts of skin or scraping it off with rocks. However they did it, within three days, Thokk was able to review an army of unmarked (and extremely sore) Orcs.

Next, Thokk ordered the tribe to move one mile to the North. Not for any economic or military reason, but just because he thought the view might be better one mile north. SO, after two days of preparation (ppacking up the tents, filling in the Drops, loading up the boars) the tribe made the move. It took another day and a half to prepare the new site, whereupon Thokk decided that he actually preferred the view at the old site. The move back took a further three days, by which time Thokk had an idea.

"Lissen we needs to thrash da fat boyz real good, yeah?" Thokk said to his war-leaders. These were the Big Boar Boy, Rotfang (a large Orc who stank of his flatulen piggy mount), the Boss Arrow Boy Fletchit (a Goblin but accorded some respect for his ability to hit a target 5 times out of ten) and the Infantry UnderBoss Gorak (a Giant who had lost his right eye to Ogres) "But first, we's gonna need gear. Wot we got now aint workin like it usedta. So we needs gunz."

All the leaders present nodded. They liked gunz, even though they had only ever been their targets. Both Stunties and Oomies had 'em and used em pretty well, but the Orcs knew they could do better. When you thought about it, gunz were a very Orcky idea: loud, destructive, and smelly. Amazing, they thought, that Orcs didn't invent em.

"Now, da Oomies, deyz too far fer us to get gun offa dem. So we raid da stunties. Aint as easy, 'cause Stunties fight lots harder fer dere stuff dan da Oomies do, but we ken do it. Only ting is, where we gonna hit em? You gits got any idears?"

Fletchit timidly spoke up "Well, da nearest Stuntie Hole is Da Eight Mountinz. Kinda tuff, cuz da Ratboyz is dere too." This was a good point since the Ratboyz were even tricksier and nastier fighters than Gobbos. Orcs were sly, but no one was sneakier or tricksier than a Ratboy. "But, if we'z quick we ken snatch whot we wants and git"

"Not bad idear runt" Thokk allowed "fightin da Rats WOULD be fun, but we cant right now. So Eight Mountinz it is! Tell da Boyz"

Da Boyz were ecstatic. Their first scarp in a month, and itd be the Stunties! Orcs loved to fight Stunties, because Stunties never ran away from the fun, but stayed until the Orcs were dead or they were. Much better than Oomies, who ran if they couldn't win, or Elves, who shot at you from far away.

Like most Orc plans, this one was executed quickly. The tribe attacked Karak Eight Peaks one month later.

Throdi Hjofisson was a guard in Karak Eight Peaks armoury. Like most low-ranking guards, he was a young dwarf performing his twenty years military service. He had no intention of being a warrior, despite the great glry that could be earned thereby. Put aside his dreams of gold to spend his life facing down unpleasant strangers? Leave that sort of thing to the crazies who enjoyed it, Throdi figured.

No, he would become a brewer. Since its retaking just a few decades ago, most of the dwarfs coming to the realm were Slayers out to find death. All well and good, but Dwarfdom ran on beer, and Karak Eight Peaks still had no brewery. Brewers might not receive as much honor, but Throdi planned on consoling himself with a beautiful wife and a fat pile of gold. Somehow, he thought he'd survive.

Then the greenies decided to get cute. They burrowed in deep behind the main entrances to the Dwarfhold, and came out near the armoury. The first sign that there was anything wrong was a break in the wall, and the sudden appearance of three Night Goblin Fanatics.

Orc raids weren't uncommon. But normally the damned greenskins went after the gold, or the beer. Orcs normally scorned the weapons of other, more civilized races. So when they attacked the armoury, the guards were largely unprepared. They had drilled to fight Skaven and Chaos forces, and were unready to face the howling green storm.

Throdi stood fast as long as he could. He might now be a warrior, he might hate fighting, he might even be scared out of his mind (though he would never ever admit this). Bbut he was first and foremost a dwarf, and damned if he was going to give way to any greenskinned moron while there was still breath in his body!

Throdi died a few moments into the raid, having killed seven goblins and three orcs. When his body was found, the expression on its face was one of pride.

Thokk was pleased at how well the raid had gone. He had gone up against the Stunties in their own Hole and had won, taking only forty percent casualties. His boyz had nicked lots of guns, cannons, and gold. Already, more Orcs and Gobbos were flocking to his banner, replacing his losses and then some. Seems the Fat Gits had been raiding more than one Orc tribe. Now, nearby tribes saw Thokk as the perfect one to lead them to battle against this new menace.

Thokk knew, though, he needed more boyz to take on the Ogres. Plus, a few extra weapons couldn't hurt. "An' where" he asled his war-leaders "does Orcses go ta get more stuff? Stuff like armor an' swords an' grub? Once da Stunties is tapped out, I mean? And, will be tuff enuff ta get other ladz on me side?"

It took a moment for the racing minds at the table to reach the answer.

"OOMIES!" cried Fletchit. Thokk clouted him on the head.

"Stoopid, I toldja before, deyz too far!" Da Boss yelled.

Gorak, who so far had been silent, spoke up. "Kay-oz?" He spoke tentatively, knowing he wasn't as smart as his Green friends, but that they liked him because he was strong.

"Dats da stuff!" Thokk said, patting the Giant on the back (actually, the back of the leg, but even Gorak understood what the Boss meant to do) "Deyz got loadsa shiny stuff, like majik swords an' axez. Plus, we beat 'em, den udda Orcses'll join up, cuz they'll know I'm tuff enuff ta beat da Fat Gitz!"

Far, far away, in the steaming jungle hell of Lustria, the Mage Priest Slyth'r smiled. The Ogres were swelling in numbers and were threatening the balance of the world the Old Ones had decreed. Fortunately, the Orcs should help even it out. He hoped so, anyway, for thing were no longer certain.

Perhaps it would be best to keep my ethereal eye on this Thokk, to ensure he does what must be done. And assist, if need be…

End Chapter 2


	3. Chapter 3

Thokk and te Evil Scarz Tribe trekked through the Chaos Wastes, looking for a warband.

This was very unusual, though the Orcs didn't realize it. For one, very few ever came to the wastes unless they worshipped the Dark Powers, which the Orcs most emphatically did not. 'Weird gits, good scrappers but too weird fer me' was the general Orc feeling regarding the Chaos Gods.

Of those few who DID come to the Wastes with their souls intact, none ever went LOOKING for warbands (barring a few Daemonslayers). Moreover, a force as large as theirs, swollen now by the addition of two lesser tribes- the Sharp Noses and the Spider Ridaz, should have attracted attention almost immediately. Instead two days had passed since the Orcs had entered the wastes, and no one had yet attacked. Thokk was starting to feel insulted.

"Oo do dese bloody Kaoz Boyz tink dey iz!" He yelled to Runt, his Chief Slave.. "Ain't we good enuff ta fight em? Jes' cuz we been beat by da Fat Gitz!"

"Dunno Boss" Runt sipered "guess deys scared of ya"

Thokk considered this and decided it must be true "Yar, I guess so. I IZ da biggest an' baddest Orc since Grimgor an' dey iz mossly Oomies. Yar, dey MUST be scareda me and da ladz. EY! I'z gotta idear!"

Thokk's idea was this: IF the Chaos warriors were too scared to attack so large and magnificent a force as his own, then they should hide their strength. The Orcs would all scatter, leaving the Goblins alone. TheOrcs would wait, just out of sight, hidden behind some rocks, until a warband decided to take the bait. Then…the fun would start.

The Gobbos, of course, had a few reservations about the plan. "Yeh? An' wot happens ta us ifn you lot scarper? We gets slaughtered dats wot! Do it cherselves!" was how Fletchit the Arrow UnderBoss put it.

And the Gobbos actually put down their stuff and refused to help.

Thokk considered how best to convinve the Goblins. He composed a speech in his mind, one that would be sure to get their cooperation. In it, he would appeal to the essential oneness of all greenskins. He would point out that Orcs, being Orcs were simply no good at this sort of thing. They were big and tended not to think as much as they should (a lie of course; every one knew Orcs were the smartest beings in existence). Gobbos on the other hand were naturally sneaky and cunning (true). The Orcs needed the gobbos. He would remind them that the Fat Gits tended to eat Gobbo more than they did Orcs; this campaign would benefit the Goblins at least as much as the Orcs. He would compose a beautiful image of all greenskinned peoples marching, hand in hand, into a glorious blood-drenched future.

In the end he thought 'ah ferggeddit' and just bashed Fletchit in the head with his fist. "Do whatcher told, runt!" he bellowed. The Goblins, now more terrified of Thokk than of Chaos, did as they were told.

The warband spotted their prey at noon (or what passed for noon in the Chaos Wastes). It was a good-sized force, composed primarily of Beastmen. The Gors were followers of Slaanesh, and as such could be spotted from far off. They all wore brightly colored silks, flashing jewlery and marched to blaring cacophonous music. When they saw the Goblins, just sitting there, they charged.

The leader, Barath Brasshorns, was eager to capture these greenies. Using these new-found slaves, his tribe could enact orgies and atrocities for months, all to the greater glory of Slaanesh. Somehere in the sensation-drenched recesses of his brain, he wondered how goblins had made it this far alone. He did not wonder long.

With a huge bellow, a massive Orc force seemed to appear out of nowhere. Barath estimated there to be at least sixty Double Fists of Greenskins (about six hundred) and they were still coming. His own host numbered a mere four hundred. Stil, he wasn't worried. For one thing Beastmen were tougher than Orcs, and for another this was the Chaos Wastes. They knew the terrain and its insanity far better than their enemies did. Finally they had…help.

He signaled the musicians to play the battle-song. A hideous sound, similar to the death screams of a dragon, filled the air, and the Slaangors charged. The sheer sight of such a charge wuld have struck terror into the hearts of all but the stoutest foes. This was enhanced by the magic banner they carried, which played on the enemy's fear. It brought to mind horrible imaginings of what the beasts were capable of. Unfortunately, Orcs don't have much in the way of imaginations, and to them, the baner waw just another 'weird Kaoz drawring'. But Barath was still unworried, his help was almost there…

Thokk was feeling good. This was even easier than the fight with the stunties, Kaoz boyz not being anywhere near as hard. Even the absence of Gorak hadn't hurt as much as he'd thought it would. The giant had suddenly wandered off, saying something about visiting some old friends. Thokk had thought they were in deep trouble, but it looked like maybe the giant wasn't as essential as he'd first thought. Then the ground started shaking. At first Thokk assumed the shamans were doing something, but then he saw they were still woozy from all the fungus they'd eaten to 'sooper-charj' themselves. So what…

Then he saw it.

A Shaggoth, a great dragon-ogre. Standing taller than Gorat, it smashed into the Orc troops, causing havoc and death with each blow of its massive axe. Worse, the beastmen rallied around the colossal monster, and were redoubling their efforts. All in all, Thokk was forced to admit that he probably should have given this plan more thought.

He was about to bellow a retreat when a great yell interrupted him. Could it be…? YES! Yes it was! Gorat had returned, and behind him were three other giants, smashing apart the beasts and making their way to the Shaggoth. The monster fought hard, but against four angry giants, it soon fell. The beastmen, even with their great monster dead, did not flee, but fought to the last. The battle lasted a full ten minutes more, before Thokk was able to make himself heard: "'Ey ! You lot! Its ovva! WE'S WON!"

Gorat lumbered up to Da Boss. He was worried. He knew, dimly, that he'd caused problems when he'd gone off to see his friends, and that the Boss would probably scold him. Gorat might even have to go away, which would be very very bad. He remembered what life had been like before the Orcs had let him join their group. He'd never been in any real trouble, until the Ogres suddenly reappeared. He remembered the sight of his brother, Throdi, being eaten alive by the hungry little Ogres. He'd spent the next few years in terror, hiding (him! A giant, one of the masters of the world! Hiding from creatures less than half his size!). Then, one day, a band of Ogres had him cornered. He'd been sure that this was his end, but the Orcs had come and saved him. He was happy with them, and didn't want to leave.

Thokk disspelled all his fears by greeting him warmly. "Ey Gorat! You'z done real good, bringin' you ladz ta da party when ya did. We wuz in a bit of a tight spot there, and den you lot showed up, an' smashed da Big Fat Scaly Freek real good! Tell ya, it wuz a joy ta watch!"

Gorat turned this over, seeing if maybe the Boss was using his smarts to scold him in some new way. He finally decided that he wasn't. "So… you'ze not mad? Cozza da way I leff ya?"

"Nar" said Thokk, dismissing the very idea with a shake of his head and a laugh "Nar, ya had ta see yer mates! I unnerstan'!" In truth Thokk was a bit mad, but knew better than to show it. Giants tended to leave if you got mad at 'em, and Gorat was far to useful. "Ey! Tink ya could convince yer mates ta stick wid us? Youse gonna need elp, ifn youse gonna be new Monsta Wrangler!"

Gorat was stunned. "Monsta Wrangler?"

"Yeah, some new tribes jes' sent word dey wants to join us. Deys bringin lotsa trolls an' a few cave squiggs. Only two guys here whats tuff enuff to control em, and I aint got da time, what leaves you. You in?"

"YEAH" Gorat bellowed, causing Thokk to take a step back. "I'ze in! An' me frien's too!"

Gorat was happier than he could ever remember being. Not only could his friends stay with him, where they'd be safe, but he had a better job!

Orcs were such wonderful people.

End chapter 3


	4. Chapter 4

Waagh 4

Thokk's Mob, as it was now known, was huge. No fewer than one thousand Orcs, and at least twice as many Goblins, had joined up. They were impressed by the new Boss's skill, his luck, and his shouting skills. Most of all however, they shared his vision of a wave of angry green warriors 'teachin dem fat gits wots wot an' oo's oo in dese mountins!". The Ogres had only been raiding the World's End mountains for a few years but had already done a great deal of damage. The Orcs didn't mind that, they did a lot of damage themselves and considered it "jes' parta da fun". But these mountains had been theirs for thousands of years, a gift from Gork and Mork, and they didn't like the idea of someone else stepping in. So they would remind the ogres why Morglum Necksnapper had famously said "Da East belongs ta da Orcses. Da East is Green". The Ogres had managed to unite a lot of Orcs that, until recently, had hated one another more than anything.

But before they could do that, Thokk had an idea. The Ogres would be tough, even tougher than the Chaos Boyz, and although it was obvious that Orcs were the best fighters in the world, it was best to be sure. SO, he ordered his Mob to do something no Orc, Goblin or even Snotling ever had ever been ordered to do before.

He ordered them to train.

There was argument, of course. The Boyz didn't like their new Boss implying that they were less than perfectly ready as was. But Thokk managed to convince them using logic, shouting, and of course his magical axe. Indeed, he was so convincing, that the meeting ended with very minor casualties.

Looking out now over his Mob, Thokk was pleased with what he saw. He looked around the camp site, and noted how each of his underbosses was doing.

The nearest was Rotfang, and his boar boyz. They were practicing charging and turning. Thokk had ordered half to be armed with long spears, and the other half with axes. The spears would be the first charge, and smash a hole in the enemy lines. The axes would follow up, taking out the rest. Thokk noted that Rotfang's ladz were doing okay, but still hadn't mastered turning. Many kept falling off their mounts whenever they tried. _Afta do sometink bout dat_ he thought _maybe blinders on da boarz? _Thokk considered _Dat way, even if dey turn, mebbe dey'll tink dey's going straight? Yeh, we'll try 'er out later_. The Goblin Spiderriders , a tribe of Forest Goblins, also trained on their eight-legged mounts. They were learning to use a bow and arrow while controlling their spiders with their legs. Thokk hoped it worked, but if not then they'd lost only a few weedy gobbos.

To the left of the cavalry ground, Fletchit and his Gun Gobbos were practicing. They had already perfected firing and reloading, and could now reload the gunz in less than a minute, which Thokk figured was probably good enough. Now they were working on their aim. Crude targets, tall and wide like Ogres had been set up far across the field. The Gun Gobbos tried to hit them, and suceeded only four times in ten. Fletchit apparently felt this coud be improved, since he had yesterday posted an order that anyone whose aim didn't improve soon would be tied to a post next to the dummies and demoted to the rank of target. Thokk had to admit, the little goblin knew how to motivate the troops.

Nearby, Gorfang Rotgut was supervising the warmachines. Chariots drawn by giant wolves and Snotling Pumpwagons raced across the field, trying to improve their speed. Catapults and Arrow-chuckers trained on improving distance and reload time. A mekboy named Throg had set up a workshop and was building…something, he wouldn't say what. Thokk didn't mind, it'd make the battle more fun to see what surprises the mad Orc came up with. Close to him, the runherdz were preparing one of Thokk's own secret weapons. They had a large herd of Snotlings, and they were force-feeding them huge amounts of fatty foods. Before the battle, Thokk would order them drenched in a rich fungus sauce, before sending them to charge the ogres from the side. _Hur hur hur!_ Thokk chuckled to himslef _Jus' let da fat gitz resist DAT! Dey'll be so bizzy eatin' dey won't notice us kikin' dere assez! Hurhurhurhur!_

Next a grizzled orc named Galrok was practicing wiith the infantry ladz. They were swinging branches topped with huge rocks. Others ran across the field while carrying even bigger rocksGalrok figured if the Boyz could learn to swing that easily, they'd be able to hit much harder and charge much faster. Gorak, the previous infantry underboss, was now training Thokk's monsters.

Thokk had once heard someone say that Ogres hated trolls. It was said that Ogres resented trolls as being the ony creatures in the world that could eat more than they could. So Thokk had Gorak training the Trolls to shout out phrases designed to enrage the Ogres even more. While trolls were thick as rocks, even they could learn to yell "Oo lookit da skinny gitz" or "Whatsamatta you gitz onna diet er wot?". And if that didn't work, Gorak's new mates were training a bunch of captured Chaos Spawn. Not easy, but if it worked it'd be usefull.

Thokk nodded to himself. They'd be ready soon.

End chapter 4

A/N Sorry this ones short. And the next chapter won't even involve Orcs. Sorry- don't worry though it should be pretty good.


	5. Chapter 5

The Great Day approached.

Thokk prepared his Boyz for the coming battle with the Ogres. The new 'Taktiks' he'd created looked good, and da ladz were as strong and violent as any warboss could hope for. Morale in the camp was high, as everyone looked forward to "da big pahhty wit da fat gitz" where they'd "settle fings once an' fer all an' show dem gitz dat orcses is da tuffest mob around". But for now, everyone was enjoying themselves. A few nights back, some Orcs from the Goff tribe had joined up, and were now entertaining the others with some of the unique music of their tribe. It consisted primarily of them hitting rocks with different sized hammers, all the while bellowing the word 'Goffs!' at the top of their mighty lungs. They called it 'Goffic Rokk'. The night's silence was also violated by squig-pipes, shouting choirs and several sets of glocken-skulls. It was the best party Orcdom had seen in living memory.

In his own tent Thokk made plans. He was sure to beat the Ogres. He had the boyz, he had the gunz, and he had the muties too! That wasn't what concerned him. It was what would happen next? Right now Thokk was one of the most powerfull Bosses in all Orcdom, but unless he had a plan for after the fight, his army would gradually break apart. Then it'd just be him and his original tribe again. Thokk couldn't go back to just being the chief of one tribe; once it'd been everything he'd ever wanted but now it seemed a small and pathetic thing. So, Thokk asked himself, who should I attack AFTER the 'Big Pahty'?

A few miles away, the Ogres marched towards the Orcs. The Ogre Tyrant, Snorflax the Hungry, lead his force across the mountains. His master, the Overtyrant Greaseous Goldtooth, had commanded him to bring back more "green tidbits" from the lands to the west. SO, with his eighty Ogre bulls and more than two hundred gnoblars he searched the strange land for food. He'd heard rumors of a huge Orc army that was looking to challenge Ogre raiders, so he had decided to make himself as visible as he could and hope the tasty little greenies came to him. HIS army's morale was low. Ogres don't like tramping around aimlessly like Orcs do; they much prefer to sit around home and eat or fight.

Already, some of the Bulls were muttering about the marching, and eying the gnoblars (and Snorflax himself) with poorly disguised hunger. If they didn't find the Orcs soon, the tyrant might find himself in a cook-pot. He prayed to the Great Maw that they find this Thokk soon.

Meanwhile, on the plain of Gorfang, the army of Cuhaltec assembled. Their general, the Saurus Oldblood Loxhol, shivered in the unfamiliar cold of the region. For a moment he wished he were back in Lustria. _Selfishness. Your duty is to obey Lord S'lythr and ensure that this Orc leader Thokk dies after the battle with the Ogres. Only then can the Old Ones plan be made safe._

On the eve of battle, three great armies made ready for war. .

A/n

Short I know.


	6. Chapter 6

The Ogres were in the east, preparing to swoop down upon their greenskinned prey. The Tyrant had faced the greenies in battle many times and had developed a strategy which he found suited his opponents perfectly. Charge 'em, hit 'em, carry off the ones that twitch and eat the ones that don't. Ogres are direct thinkers and the plan was one of his all-time favorites. But he sensed the time was not yet, and he waited.

The Armies of The Old Ones of Lustria were in the West, preparing to swoop down upon the Orcs AND the Ogres. The Mage-Priest had been clear that neither army was to escape alive. Both armies seemed fairly evenly matched; the brute force of the Ogres was counterbalanced by the insane ferocity of the Orcs. This made things tricky. If the Ogres had been fighting humans or dwarfs or elves or any of the other youngling races, Scar Veteran Skrak would have waited patiently the two had smashed each other to pieces. Then, a swift assault taking advantage of the 'winners' exhaustion and casualties to achieve crushing victory. Normally, intervening between two armies was a good way to get them to fight as one.

But the ancient Saurus general had some experience of Orcs. He knew that they would regard a three-way battle as just extra fun, and merrily attack both sides, and eventually, one another as well. The Ogres on the other hand did not have the numbers to fight a two-front battle. Thus, the Mage Priest predicted that the optimal result could be reached by attacking when both sides were already engaged. The Scar Veteran was pleased to have the guidance of one so versed in the Old Ones wisdom. However, he sensed that the time to attack was not yet, and he waited.

The Orcs were in the middle, desperately hoping for SOMEONE to swoop down on them. They were as ready as they were ever going to be and even the Boss was starting to have trouble keeping his army from fighting itself. The blazing sun was beating down, and the boyz were getting uncofortable. He sensed that the time was not yet but felt that it damn well should be, and he was tired of waiting. He threw back his head and his bellow was heard for miles around.

"OI! WOT'S DA ZOGGIN' HOLD UP! LETS GEDDON WIDDIT ALREADY, YA COWARDLY GITS!"

Suddenly, the time was now.

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Thokk was thrilled at the way the battle was going. True, the Scaly Boyz had been an unexpected surprise. True, their presence had zogged his plans good and proper. Now he had to send his troll force to fight on the Western front, and their painstakingly memorized insults really weren't much help. And true, the Ogres were a lot stronger than he remembered, and seemed almost as happy to be fighting as the orcs.

But, on the other hand, he was in the biggest battle he could remember, so he was happy.

He smacked one of his huskarlz on the head to get his attention. Putting his mouth close to his bodyguards large ear he still had to yell to be heard. "TELL DA RUNTHERDZES TA BRING OUT DA SPESHAL SNOTZ! ITS TIME TO SEE IF THEY KIN DO THE GUBBINS!". He gave the the ork a ringing slap across the back of his head to hurry him along and turned back to the battle.

Thokk ducked under the blow of a Saurus, and swung upwards with the Hitty Stikk. The blow, powered by the Orc Warlords powerful arm and enhanced with ancient magic, knocked the lizardman's head off and sent it sailing into the distance. Thokk had to admit the old warboss (he couldn't seem to remember his name just now) had made a smart choice in having the Hitty Stikk made. For a backwards Feral Orc, that was. Obviously, a CIVILIZED Orc would have had all that power bound into an axe.

The Ladz were doing well, and the Warboss's plan was helping them. The specially seasoned and fattened snotlings were doing a great job of distracting the Ogres. The Ogres, used to following their guts to victory, had seized on the delectable little greenskins. With bellows of glee and hunger, many Ogres abandoned the battle in favor of eating as many snotlings as possible, allowing the Boar Boyz to hit their unprotected flank. The sharpened spears of the riders tore into the Ogre lines, causing a rout.

The battle against the Scaly Boyz was less clear, truth to tell. The disciplined troops of the Old Ones were unused to dealing with the howling tide of green insanity that was an Orc army. But none of the Orcs present had ever faced the Lizardmen either, so that made the whole thing a draw.

Suddenly Thokk saw a huge solitary figure loom before him. The Ogre Tryant sent two of Thokk's huskarlz flying with a single sweep of his colossal spiked club. Thokk attacked, figuring that if he took out the Ogre boss, the army might break. He swung the Hitty Stikk in high, and old Rippa in low. He assumed the Ogre, being nowhere near as smart as an Orc, would block one attack, only to be killed by the other.

Unfortunately, this ogre must have been something special, because he used both the handle and the tip of his club to block both blows. The Hitty stikk snapped under the force of Thokk's blow, and the strength of the tyrants parry. And the magical axe, taken long ago from the body of a White Lion of Uluthuan, bounced comically off the iron-hard club and flew from Thokk's grip. The Ogre grinned, revealing broken blood-stained teeth.

''_Eavens ta gork! Is dis da end of Thokk?_!' the warlord wondered. '_don't seem right, goin' down jes' when it was gettin ta be fun. Ah well, at least I'ze goin' down ta somefin worff fightin' _ Thokk prepared himself for the afterworld in the traditional Orc manner. He soiled himself and chaged his enemy bare-handed, howling "Ya dozzen't take an Orc dat easy, ya fat Git!".

Thokk could see the Ogre was surprised by the move. It just went to show, even facing certain death, an Orc could always take his enemy by surprise. Thokk slammed into his massive foe with all the force his body could muster…

…only to bounce off the brutes massive belly. The Warboss landed on his backside, right back where he had started. The Tyrant chuckled, a sound like an avalanche, and prepared to deal Thokk his deathblow.

At the last second, an immense noise tore through the air. A hole, big enough for Thokk to put his head AND shoulders through, had appeared in the Ogres chest. The brute looked down, seemingly surprised, before slowly toppling backward. Thokk got up, and saw the Gun Gobbo team standing in front of him, smoke curling from their firearms. The leader, Fletchit, had a smug smile on his little grotty face.

"Dere you is Boss" he said in his nasal scratchy Goblin voice "heard as you wuz inna spot a trouble. Me and me ladz decide ta see ifn we couldn't help out."

"Urrr… yer, well"Thokk said, trying to think of something Bossly to say, something that would reveal his gratitude to the Goblins while at the same time reminding them of their place. After all, goblins sometimes got to thinking they were as good as orcs, if you let them "I 'ad 'im in hand, but thanks runts. Now, get ta work. Go take care a da Ogre weirdboy, da one wit da pot o'meat, an' den tell da Giants ta c'mere."

'right Boss" said Fletchit, and with minimal grumbling, they headed off.

Thokk looked both ways to make sure no one was looking. He trotted over to where Rippa lay, and retrieved his oldest companion. Then he returned to the Tyrants corpse.

The ogre Butcher was worried, and when he was worried his magic suffered. Ogre magic, unlike all other forms in the Known World, is not based on the winds of Chaos or on a racial mind (as is Orc magic). Instead it is based on the Racial Stomach. By combining certain ingredients, pleasing to the Great Maw, into a bloody stew, butchers invoked the god's power. When prepared properly, Gut Magic is a devastating, if unsophisticated, force. Not unlike the ogres themselves.

In this particular instance however, due to his irritation, the butcher was unable to concentrate on his consecrated cookery. He found himself distracted by the battle, a first for him, and adding too much or not enough enemy flesh to the pot. At first he'd thought it was hunger, but even after consuming three of his gnoblar assitants (sending the other tiny greenskins running) he was unable to focus. It was as though some force was trying to keep him from completing the ritual recipes.

Sighing, he dropped the live goblin he'd been about to toss in his meat pot. The little creature made a break for the orc lines, and would have made it, except for a Boar Boy who evidently couldn't distinguish gobbo from gnoblar. The butcher looked out across the battlefield…

…only to see the orc leader standing on the shoulders of two giants, holding aloft the severed head of the Undertyrant!

"Yer boss is dead! Yer boss is DEAD ya stoopid gitz!" the greenskinned leader bellowed "g'wan beat it! Tell ya Big Boss or whatever. Tell 'im da west belongs ta Gork an' Mork. Da West is Green!"

Ogres respect strength more than anything else. If the leader of the orcs had somehow bested their leader, the Ogres thought that he could destroy all of them. The butcher knew this, and knew he had to prevent this thought from sinking in. He raised his hands, and drew in a deep breath intending to rally his troops using all the powers of inspiration and intimidation granted him by the Great Maw. It was to be a rousing, mythic oration. Unfortunately before he could say a word, he was trampled by his fellow ogres. Apparently, his fellows hadn't waited to be inspired.

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the Scar Veteran was displeased. The battle was going badly for the forces of the Old Ones. He had not anticipated the anarchic tactics of his adversaries, and his plans were simply not materializing. He would order a uit to assault a greenskin unit, only to have the greenskins suddenly peel off in a dozen different directions. His troops, used to firm orders from above, were not coping well. Saurus troops held fast against Black Orc assaults, only to scatter in the face of out-of-control Goblin Doom Divers carrying lit barrels of gunpowder. Skink skirmishers stealthily crept towards targets, only to be smashed apart by Goblin Fanatics who weren't even aware of their presence.

Moreover, he had not anticipated facing anything but Orcs and goblins. Had he known he would be facing trolls and giants, he would have brought kroxigors and salamandersto tilt the odds firmly in his favor. As it was he had to rely on…other assets.

Skrak reached one bluish claw into a small skaven-skin pouch he had hanging from his belt. He pulled out an ornate amulet, a square composed of blue jade studded with opals and rubies. He knelt in the dust and began a prayer to the Old Ones that their will might be done.

BREAK+

thokk stood atop Gorak and his friends shoulders, exulting in his moment of triumph. He had bested the Fat Gits and the Scaly Boyz, and this was just the start. He was already planning his next move.

Word of his victory would spread throughout Orcdom. He was the first Orc to win a great, decisive victory over the ogres, and Orcs liked successful leaders. Eager warriors would flock to his banner, Orcs from every tribe and clan coming together to form a great Waaagh, one which would change the world. Waaagh! Thokk would sweep out of the Worlds Edge Mountains into the Ogre Kingdoms. Thokks new tactics (Gobbo Gun Krews, Trained Trolls, Speshul Sauce Snotz and Gobbo Doom Bommas), as well as other Orcy innovations, would surely triumph over the Ogres brute strength.

But he would not stop there, oh no. Thokk had heard tales of the incredible wealth that existed beyond the Ogre Lands. The human kingdoms of Far Cathay and Nippon had probably never even heard of Orcs. Easy pickings, and high time too. And then…

Except that there was no 'and then' because Thokks head exploded.

BREAK+

The Scar Veteran smiled. All had ended well. He had lost the battle, but with the aid of the amulet, secured his objective. It had sent a fragment of the Mage-Priest's sorcerous might into the green brutes skull, causing it to detonate. The objective, to check the Orcs progress, had been achieved, for the great force could not hold together without their leader. He could die pleased with himself. Which is exactly what happened a moment later when a Doom Diver, still clutching its explosive payload, landed on his head.

AFTERWARDS

The Lustrian force was smashed to pieces by the enraged Orcs mere moments after the death of Thokk. Nevertheless, Mage-Priest Slyth'r considered it to have been well worth while. The Ogres had been checked, the Orcs checked, and the Old Ones designs had been safe-guarded. Well worth a few lesser lives.

The Ogres fled back to their mountainous home. Their report of the battle was heard by the OverTyrant himself, who listened patiently before ordering the survivors to be killed and eaten by their tribes. After all, failure IS failure. He reflected, as he chewed the flesh of one of his former soldiers, that in future he would have to attempt to send his raiding parties AROUND the World's Edge Mountains, at least for a while.

The Orc force, deprived of its leader and still eager to fight, broke apart mere moments after Thokk's death. Every clan and tribe that had been welded together by the late Boss peeled off to find new battles to fight, or stayed to fight their former comrades. The new tactics and weapons were largely abandoned, as most Bosses felt such things unOrcky. Thokk's body was taken to a secret place in his home tribes territory, where it was visited religiously by the Orcs until they forgot about it.

THE END

A/N; and that's that.

Sorry about the delays, but I only get every other weekend off and theres no Net on my base. So my updates are coming along slower than I thought. But rest assured they ARE coming along. The next chapter of Vote Brujah is half-done, and I've made significant progress on The Siege of Powtanvilles next chapter.

Read and review, read and review.


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